


Nightcap

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Scene, M/M, Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Just a short little scene of what could have been in Soho 1967.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 60
Collections: Love And Lust Through The Ages





	Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Bottom!Aziraphale-zine “Love and Lust through the Ages”. Hope you guys enjoy. :)

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you wanna go,” says Crowley, trying hard to copy the look Aziraphale gives him when he wants something. After all, the demon knows firsthand that it always works. Well, it does when the angel wields its power. Crowley is not sure he can pull it off.  
Turns out: He can.  
“Alright,” Aziraphale answers after a couple of seconds and smiles: “A little nightcap never hurt anyone.”  
“Not sure about that,” Crowley grins. “But I won’t allow anything or anyone to hurt you.”  
As soon as the words tumble out of his mouth, he wants to catch them and stuff them back down his throat. Too much, too obvious.  
But to his pleasant surprise, there is no shift in Aziraphale’s mood, no change in posture, no tightening of his smile. If anything, he smiles a little brighter at that.  
“Well, then. Since the security measures of this nightcap include a vigilant demon, I suppose I’m safe and sound,” he chuckles.  
Crowley wants to give back something witty and flirty, but the angel is glowing with affection and joy – Crowley cannot tell if it’s a literal glow, or if he’s just imagining it – and all the words running wild in the demon’s mind are unable to come together to form any smart or charming comment.  
“Uh, yeah, sure, ‘f course, angel,” he stutters instead. _Smooth!_  
They drive to the bookshop without any words. The silence vibrates with everything unspoken, but none of them dares breaking it. It is not until the door is closed behind them that Crowley hears the angel take a deep breath.  
“You know,” says Aziraphale. “I wanted to invite you after the church incident, but you were gone so fast.”  
Crowley swallows. He remembers. Of course he does.  
He remembers the rage he felt at the Nazis who took advantage of his kind and naïve angel. The fear of being too late. The relief upon seeing Aziraphale alive in the church. And that look of gratitude and, dare he say, adoration the angel gave him after he handed him his precious books. That look made him forget the horrible pain in his feet for a moment. Yes, it was a time to shine and Crowley had shone. But when the angel invited him to come in, he panicked. He did not trust his own stupid heart and his even stupider mouth. Too afraid of destroying what he had just achieved, he mumbled an apology and drove off.  
“I told you, Aziraphale,” he says defensively. “I needed to take care of my feet. That sacred ground hurt them pretty badly. I’m a demon, you know?”  
“I could have helped you with that!” argues Aziraphale, rummaging through his wine cabinet. “I am quite adept when it comes to healing. I’m an angel, you know?”  
Aziraphale speaks the last words with a smirk and a raised eyebrow while he hands Crowley a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew. Before he goes to fetch two glasses, he casts his friend an unreadable glance over his shoulder.  
Upon the angel’s return Crowley has opened the bottle and pours them both a glass. Downing his in one gulp earns him a look of affectionate disapproval from Aziraphale, but he needs the liquid courage to say what he has to say.  
“Look, angel,” explains Crowley. “’M sorry, alright? I shouldn’t just have left. I…”  
“No, dear,” interrupts Aziraphale. “I should apologize! For what I said in St. James Park. I do hope you know that our… bond means a lot to me.”  
This last words he speaks with his voice full of nostalgia, longing and regret.  
“You mean our ‘fraternizing’?” Crowley wants to chuckle, but against his will he sounds bitter.  
“Oh, Crowley! Please forgive my poor choice of words. My defenses went up because I was so hurt.”  
“Hurt?” Crowley repeats with a frown. “Why? Angel, I never meant for you to endanger yourself to get the water. I would never ask that of you.”  
“What?” Aziraphale is confused for a moment, but then understanding spreads across his face. “Oh! No, no! I wasn’t hurt because you put me in danger!”  
“Then why?”  
Now it is Aziraphale’s turn to down the content of his glass. With a pleading look he presents the empty glass to Crowley who refills it, only to watch the angel finish it again.  
“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale starts to explain. “I thought you entertained the thought of killing yourself.”  
“I told you…”  
“I know, I know!” the angel hurries to say. “Well, _now_ I know. Back then I thought you might see suicide as a way out in case everything went beer-shaped.”  
“Pear-shaped.”  
“Hm?”  
“Forget it,” Crowley smiles.  
“Anyway,” continues Aziraphale. “In that moment, thousands of thoughts rushed through my head. I thought about my life. About the good things in it. For example, the humans. I love them, but it’s unwise to get too attached to individuals. Same goes for animals, great and small. The other angels, well, I don’t need to tell you that they don’t have much in common with me. Of course there are all the Earthly delights: food, drinks, music, theatre, literature. But they are rather bland if there is no one to share them with.”  
“What are you…?”  
“I love sharing those things with you,” says Aziraphale. “Our lunches, dinners, walks, visits to the theatre, our discussions, even our arguments... These are the best things in my life.”  
Aziraphale casts his eyes downwards, breathing uneven.  
“Angel,” Crowley whispers and carefully puts a finger under the other’s chin to lift his gaze back up.  
Blue meets gold when their eyes fix on each other. Aziraphale swallows audibly before he speaks quietly: “You, Crowley, are what makes this world worth living in for me. I was hurt because I couldn’t be the same for you.”  
Crowley closes the remaining distance between them and caresses the angel’s cheek.  
“You’re so smart, angel,” he whispers with a smile. “And yet so wrong. You don’t just make the world worth living in for me. You are the world to me.”  
He leans down and Aziraphale meets him halfway. And the kiss they share makes the world worth living in.


End file.
